The Fenris Wolf
by Intestines
Summary: Alone in prison, Loki is grateful to see his son. But Fenrir is bitter, and Fenrir wants only to destroy. And Loki is not so sure that that is a good idea any more. Post-movie, one-shot.


**A/N:** I haven't written anything for a while but I'm excited about the Avengers so I thought I'd use it to get back into practice. I haven't read the comics (unfortunately) and I'm not an expert on mythology so I hope this is sufficiently canon-compliant to be believable.

In the myths, Loki had a wolf-son called Fenrir, and a snake-child called Jormungand, the Midgard Serpent. Anyway, some father-son talk, Loki regrets things, and, yeah, reviews are cool. :)

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**The Fenris Wolf**

Alone in his prison of a cave, Loki faced the cavernous darkness with eyes closed tight. Dribbles of icicles hung motionless from the roof, and outside the snowstorm swirled and raged, but Loki did not shiver. Without his mother, he had nothing to tell him that the coldness was wrong. He had no warmth at his core at all – had he a heart, even? He didn't like to think on it. He knew he felt regret and that it stung his bones and he wished the snow would devour him or that he could melt away, as nothing here did, but he tried not to think at all.

He focused on breathing – _in, out, in, out, don't think about Asgard, don't think about Thor_ – and though it seemed a pointless task it was all he could do to stop himself teetering off the brink of insanity and driving himself to much worse things. He was safe here, at least, in this lost cave in Jotunheim that had been given the protection of the Allfather's magic. The Chitauri would not find him; as far as they were concerned he could have almost trickled from the face of existence. He told himself this, anyway, because it was easier to be angry – _easier to simply be destroyed_ – than to entertain the possibility that they had powers stronger than that of the Allfather, and the means to find him here.

Loki did not know for how long he sat in the cave, only that he had lost count of the days that had dawned since his imprisonment. Thor had come to visit, at the beginning. The conversations had been entirely one-sided, of course; Loki had tried at the beginning but even Thor's strength would not have been able to shift the muzzle latched onto his face. Something so trivial as that could not and would not stop the oaf from blathering on, though ("I hope you find redemption soon, brother – I miss you in the palace!—I think the Allfather is coming around to the idea; perhaps you will be given the chance to atone for you actions!—I have discovered something most wonderful, brother, it is a Midgardian contraption called a 'smart phone'!—"). Loki ignored him resolutely. He did not want to hear about the Allfather, because being reminded of Asgard reminded him of everything he had done, so he glared Thor down, and Thor's visits became less frequent ("I apologise, Loki, but I have discovered a dining hall called McDonald's – it really is most wonderful and I have been spending much time there," was one excuse), then slowed to a trickle ("They call it an 'office' but I do not see why Midgardians visit so often; it is incredibly dull…"), and then one day he realised that Thor didn't visit him any longer.

_In, out, don't think about Thor…_

For all the battles that raged there, this far-flung corner of Jotunheim was eerily silent. There was only sound of the wind crying softly beyond some hills and the snow whispering and the ice cracking. It was the sound he had become accustomed to. Cold hung heavily in the air and swept up his nose and into his lungs and through his body via the heart he wasn't sure he had.

And then one day he heard another sound. It was the sound of snow crunching beneath feet, four large and heavy feet. The sound was travelling on the wind through valleys and across hills but with nothing in the way to stop it, Loki could hear its echoes around the cave in which he was imprisoned and for a moment his eyes snapped open and he forgot his breathing. The sound brought him back to a time long ago, a time when he'd been… happy? Almost. He wasn't sure if he deserved it – no, he knew he didn't, but he had been all the same. So he told himself he was imagining the sound of the paws thundering through the snow and that he had finally gone mad and he closed his eyes again.

_In, out, in, out, don't think about… don't think about…_

The snow outside his cave was knocked about in a flurry and he could hear the beast galloping towards him. He clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut more tightly, trying not to think about what was outside (_Thorthorthorthorthor_) because he was sure he was either dreaming or insane and that he would turn around and it wouldn't be true and then he wouldn't know what to do. But it was impossible to ignore the creature's presence.

The cave filled with a hot stench that made Loki gag. It was the smell of death, and rotting, he knew that, and yet it had never smelled so sweet. It was the smell of hot blood, flesh blood, and it was a smell he was all too familiar with: the smell that exuded from his son's lips and made the Asgardians fear him.

_don't think about don't you dare think about_

"Father."

The voice was rough and unpleasant by anyone's standards, but so heartbreakingly beautiful to hear that Loki didn't know what to do. So he choked out a laugh, mocking his own subconscious, because surely that was what had created this illusion.

_Fenrir._

"Look at me."

And he did. He turned around, for the first time in – what was it? Days? Months? Years? – and he found himself face to face with the man whom he'd thought had long forgotten him. Fenrir's cheeks were hollowed – he'd lost weight since Loki had last seen him – and his eyes were bloodshot. His chin was covered in short, rough hairs, and the hair on his head was blackened with dirt, and matted and tangled in a way that looked painful. Over his shoulders hung the front legs of his wolf-skin; the head lolled ungracefully at the back, yellowed fangs dribbling blood.

_What's happened to you?_ Loki wanted to say, and, _Why have you come to me?_, and a thousand other things that he could not find the words for, but that didn't matter, because when he tried to speak, his words were trapped inside their metal cage.

"Let me take that from you."

Loki shook his head, tried to make him understand. The muzzle wasn't going anywhere. Fenrir's lip curled into a snarl, and he stepped forward, almost-clawed hand reaching through the golden bars of the jail and snatching at the gag. His nails caught it, wrenched, and ripped it from Loki's jaw. The lower half of his face burned, red raw, and all Loki could do was stare as Fenrir tossed it to the ground.

His son had always been stronger than he should have been.

Fenrir looked him in the eye. The redness seemed to blaze for what seemed like an eternity before Loki broke his gaze.

"You shouldn't have come."

"You shouldn't be here," Fenrir countered.

Loki almost laughed. He made a noise, at any rate, that was something between a chortle and a half-hearted moan of despair. "Did you not hear the reports of what I had accomplished on Midgard? Or are you here purely by chance?"

"I am here as your son. Of course I've heard about what happened on Midgard. Did you think the Allfather would fail to regale his court with the tales?"

Loki sniffed, blinked back hot tears. Through clenched teeth, he muttered, "And what was it you were doing in the Allfather's court?"

"They shackled me to his steps. It seems they fear me – a prophet says I am to devour him."

"I expect you'd make a good job of it, too." Fenrir laughed, and it was harsh, and it sounded like the dog he really was, and Loki, though he loved his son with all his would-be heart, understood why he was hated throughout Asgard. "I'll devour him myself if he thinks I'll allow him to put you in chains."

"That's no way to speak of your father," said Fenrir, and his tongue shot out, licking around his filthy lips. "And in any case, you mightn't want to worry about me. He had Jormungand tossed into the sea, did you know?"

Loki hissed. "He's a monster of a man."

"No, father. We're the monsters, all of us." Fenrir's eyes dropped to the ground, and for a moment he was silent, almost woeful. "It's because of us that you're here. If we weren't—"

"Fenrir, stop." Loki clenched the golden bars with both fists, and pulled himself as close to his son as he could with them in between. "You are none of you to blame for this. You mustn't ever think—It is I who brought you into this world, and Odin hated me because of that, not because of what you are. Fenrir… Look at me."

But he remained silent for a moment, still looking at the ground, and when he looked up, he growled. He grabbed one of the prison bars in his hand, the metal of a ring he must have taken from the court at Asgard smacking it with a resounding clang. Loki thought he heard some snow tumble from mountaintops not far off. "He never gave you a chance. He was cruel, and he was hateful, and whatever you have done on Midgard, father, is nothing compared to casting aside your own son." Flecks of spittle flew from his mouth, and his eyes seemed to be more bloodshot than before, and too bright. "Even when you, _Prince of Asgard_, were feasting with the Allfather and thought yourself his kin, you stood by us. Whatever you have done, father, I am telling you, it was justified."

"No." Loki released the bar and backed off, stunned. He had never, ever believed what he had done was justified. He had told himself it was, yes, and he had maybe even thought it was true, but deep inside his soul, he knew it was not. He was hurt, and scared, and felt so very alone, and he had thought that was the reason behind his evil thoughts. But instead, here and now, he had his own son standing face to face with him, comforting him, telling him that what he had done was acceptable.

Perhaps there was evil in his blood after all.

"Yes. I've heard about them, father, that motley crew of mortals led by Odin's son. The _Avengers_. The mightiest heroes of Midgard. What are they to you? You deserve better than to be abandoned in some cave whilst they are celebrated as a god should be. I—"

"Fenrir, _stop this_!" Loki was shouting now, spluttering, unable to find the words to tell his son to stop, that this was never what he wanted, that being in prison was _good_, it was better than Asgard because no-one pretended to care and no-one hated him and no-one hurt him and he had no-one to hurt. But all that came out were whimpers, and Fenrir laughed. Fenrir _laughed_ at him.

"I will avenge _you_, father. I will avenge your honour and when I am finished I shall do as has been foretold and I shall destroy the Allfather."

"No, Fenrir, you can't, please…" His last word trailed off as Fenrir released his grip on the prison bar and turned his back on him. He began to walk away, feet crunching in the snow. "_Fenrir_!" Loki shrieked to the swirling snow and his son's figure, fading fast in the grey Jotun light. "Where are you going? What are you doing?"

Fenrir turned back, a leer on his face, horrid and murderous, and his eyes burned red and he said without allowing his smile to falter, "I'm going to devour Midgard." And then he turned his back again, and although Loki continued to call after him, he did not turn back again. Disappearing into the distance, he pulled the wolf-skin over his own head, and Loki watched, howling, with no way to let anyone know, as his son transformed into a monstrous wolf and galloped into the snowy wasteland, his sulphurous breath polluting the air and thoughts of murder polluting his mind.


End file.
